


Touchstarved

by GorseMonster



Series: Far Beyond Paradise Lost [4]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Biting, Gentleness, Other, Romance, Soul Bond, Teasing, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-19 07:20:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20205889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GorseMonster/pseuds/GorseMonster
Summary: It's been nearly ten years since Ira had any kind of intimate contact, much to an Ascian's surprise. Naturally, he desires to see what effect that has on a person. Purely for Ira's benefit, of course.





	Touchstarved

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly have no reason or excuse for this other than the fact that I wanted Ira to have an orgasm from the gentlest contact ever known.

It was always easy to tell these days when Emet-Selch was boring a hole in the back of Ira’s head, as if trying to see into their mind. He’d tried, of course, across the anchor, but found the lalafell’s soul quite unamenable to the idea. But they felt the tell-tale pressure of his soul weaving around theirs like a housecat demanding attention. Sat at the table in front of the fire, with a heavy tome open, one that was easily half their height alone, Ira couldn’t see Emet-Selch physically, but did not need to.

“What is it, Emet-Selch,” Ira plainly asked, not lifting their head from their book. The soul ducking and weaving around theirs prickled with delight at the attention.

“I was wondering, hero. I’ve seen you in all sorts of situations, we’ve been here, alone, for some time and yet I find myself wondering, don’t you  _ ever  _ take time to enjoy yourself?” He leant over the table, slouching sideways around the book to try and catch their eye. Their brow furrowed slightly in response. “I’m doing that right now, Emet. Or, I’m trying to, but my dear  _ husband _ wants to play riddles and games.”

Ira had taken to using the term often in private. Neither they or the Ascian had deigned to share their status as ‘bonded’ by Amaurotine custom. They expected Emet-Selch would drop that information at a time that would embarrass Ira most.

“Enjoying yourself with a dusty old tome about…” His head tilted to read the spine of the book, “How to Avoid Roux-in: Saucemaking for Advanced Culinarians. Oh yes, I see my spouse has only the raunchiest of entertainment at their disposal.”

Emet-Selch chuckled, leaning hopefully to catch the eye of the horned, heterochromic lalafell. “What I mean, dear warrior, is do you ever enjoy  _ yourself. _ ” A blush started to creep onto Ira’s face. “You already asked and I already gave you an answer.” They turned the page curtly, somehow  _ at _ Emet-Selch. The sound of a rift opening, closing and opening filled their ears, the Ascian appearing behind them, running a gloved finger along one of the lalafell’s ears. Their lip curled and they growled lowly, cut off as he softly squeezed the tip of an ear between his thumb and middle finger, drawing a soft noise from them that caused the blush to bloom into bright red across their face.

“Just a little touch, don’t be so dramatic!” His fingers trailed around to the underside of Ira’s ear, touching their lobe and making them bite a knuckle to stay silent. “Anybody would think you’ve not been touched in a lifetime, gracious.” Ira was silent, their gaze on the book all the more intense, and Emet-Selch could swear he saw the slightest gathering of tears at the corners of their eyes.

His eyes softened as Ira shivered slightly, trailing his fingers around their shoulders, stealing the softest breath from Ira as his fingers touched just beneath their nape. “How long has it been, my love?”

Ira shot him a look, the edges of sharkish teeth just visible. “It’s an honest question. How long?” Ira was silent, trying to more intently read their book but a slow stroke along their spine had them shuddering. “A...while.”

Emet-Selch chuckled softly, sitting next to Ira and eventually pulling the Warrior of Light across to him, who capitulated without much fuss, standing on his thighs to try and stare him down, but their flustered appearance made it quite impossible. “Time is  _ very _ relative to us ancient beings. How about specifics? When? Who with?” Ira’s blush flooded into their ears which were promptly squeezed and massaged by dextrous fingers, making the lalafell murmur a sound of pleasure they hadn’t intended to escape as they clapped a hand over their mouth. His fingers ran through their short hair, nails scraping along their scalp, making them slump and shudder against him, head pressed into his shoulder.

“Hhf...Maybe...nine or ten years ago. With a roegadyn woman...” There was a long, long pause before they made nervous eye-contact, red and deep gold flitting to pale summer yellow. “It was...Eyrigeiss.” They buried their head in Emet-Selch’s soft clothes, the Ascian dressed in a casual shirt and linen pants. He looked almost  _ normal _ outside of Convocation robes or Imperial attire.

“Ah, so my suspicions were correct. You truly  _ do _ like them tall, don’t you?” he teased, pulling his gloves off with his teeth, tracing around Ira’s collarbones, their horns pressing into his chest, the tips framing his jaw. “Yes, you willowy idiot,” the lalafell grumbled back, slowly kneeling on his thighs as his fingers roamed underneath their loose shirt, skirting around the scar occupying most of their centre torso. “Tell me more about Eyrigeiss, then; was she a dashing femme fatale that swept my dear monster off their feet. Some brutish savage? A refined mage?” His fingers trailed down their arms, circling nails around Ira’s wrists in a way that made them crumple under his touch. “I...ahhhf...I don’t remember much from then. I was drunk all the time and…” they trailed off. Emet-Selch pursed his lips, dipping his head to lay a soft kiss between Ira’s horns. He felt the pain creeping out from their anchor, and diverted from the subject of Eyrigeiss. “What about the ten years after? What of you and yourself?” His voice was soft, genuine compassion rather than looking to exchange insults with Ira.

“Not since I became, well, this…” They gestured to themself, the Warrior of Light. Emet-Selch let a soft breath out of his nose, tipping Ira’s head up to smile lightly at them. “Well, how about you let me do this for you? A little reminder of one of the few things you mortals got right.”

For a person that had, at great damage to their body and soul, pulled the Ascian out of the Lifestream, allowed to modify their body at his own whim and accidentally performed an Amaurotine bonding with, Ira still found themself hesitating to trust Emet-Selch. He felt it in how their aether retreated, a hard shell forming around their soul as they, on instinct, panicked. “Please, hero?”

The gentlest touch of deep cherry red and gold laid upon their aether, and they finally dared to make eye contact with the Ascian, his fingers tracing a slow crescent around their left eye, a matched gold hue.

The soft touch of his lips to theirs helped to massage some of that distrust away. His fingers wandered lazily around the tops of Ira’s shoulders, making them shiver, before finding their way to the base of their horns; they’d shouted at him before about touching them, and there his fingers stayed as he broke the kiss.

“May I?” he purred, fingertips just touching the very base of each horn. Ira’s breath hitched, worried, distrusting. “...you may.”

Emet-Selch inclined his head. “Are you sure?” The answer came quicker, a small nod, pressing the bony ornaments to his hands. His fingers trailed around the base, a light touch at the ridge in their scalp where the horns emerged from their skull, slowly dragging his touch from bottom to top, allowing the backs of his nails to catch each ridge, watching Ira’s body give small little twitches each time before his fingers closed around the midpoint, giving a soft tug to their horns that made them gasp, burying their face in his shirt again.

“Look at you, crumbling to pieces from just little touches.” He was teasing but some part of him felt..sorrow, for Ira. So starved of intimate touch for so long that  _ all  _ it took was the gentlest of contact to make them into a quivering mess. He dipped his head, his lips brushing Ira’s ear. “I wonder if I could make you come undone completely…” It was a low voice, threatening and exciting all at once, and the lalafell let out a strangled sound of concern. If the hue of their cheeks could go any redder, it would, but all that happened was heat prickled across their skin, nerves blossoming into a blush so fierce Ira truly felt like their skin was on fire. “E-Emet!” they huffed, looking up at him with a show of their sharkish teeth. He smiled, his fingers sliding down to squeeze the tips of their ears, their eyes fluttering and rolling back, their bared teeth giving way for a soft ‘oh!’ as his fingers squeezed and massaged the pliable cartilage.

One hand slipped beneath the collar of Ira’s shirt, softly stroking just below the nape of their neck, making their body slump against his with a stifled, indecent moan. “Just here? Right...here?” His nails lightly dragged along the skin, along shoulder and down Ira’s arm making them let out a barked sound of  _ embarrassed _ pleasure, desperate and needful, yet ashamed that they should be brought to shivering from a little touch on their neck. “There’s no shame, dear monster. Let me hear you.”

He pulled Ira up closer to him, dipping his head to place a kiss at the side of Ira’s neck, the lalafell finally letting out the first genuine sigh of delight, their toes curling. Emet-Selch tipped his head back as he took a second to keep his own wants in check; sheer hedonistic demands of his mortal body from the sound he pulled from Ira. This was for them, and he was not sure exactly how much, or even if the lalafell trusted him at all, despite everything.

His other hand found its way under the hem of Ira’s loose shirt, giving a gentle touch to their spine, along the marble white, gnarled scar that stretched almost entirely from the small of their back to their nape. Emet-Selch opened his mouth to speak, but thought better, pressing his lips to their throat, feeling the vibration as they vocalised a soft groan from the slow touch across the scar, tracing the outline of its jagged borders.

Between the soft kisses on their neck and the lazy stroking below their nape it wasn’t long before Emet-Selch realised how strained their breathing was getting, soft murmurs turning to pleading whines that drifted between the common Eorzean tongue and Amaurot’s. “Do you trust me, Ira?” His voice was low and soft, a rumble against their ear.

He said their name. They had only heard it once before, and the effect it had on them now was as profound as it was then, shivering with just the utterance of it.

It was hard to think, especially with the lazy trailing of fingers to wrist, to neck and back again. “Y-yes…” was the breathy answer. “Good,” the firm reply, as he kissed between neck and shoulder, and then sharply bit the same spot, one arm holding Ira tight and the other gripping a horn firmly lest he find himself with interesting bruises.

The lightest touch of his soul to Ira’s, and they yielded immediately, aether tangling and merging, sensations overwhelming as he pulled them in tight, the pale blue flickering out for just a moment before it surged outwards like a firework, both parties distinctly aware of each other, physically and mentally, the two faintly murmuring to each other;  _ “I love you.” _

Ira shuddered and tensed against him, gasping “H-Hades!”, fingers gripping his arms tight as their breath held for just long enough to worry, and then let out in a series of gasps and moans, Emet-Selch giving a soft shudder as he drank every sound in, holding them close as they unraveled. “You poor thing,” he started, placing soft kisses on their neck, jaw, and finally on their forehead.

“I think you have plenty of catching up to do, and I accept my solemn duty in being your assistant in this endeavour.” His fingers uncurled from the grip of Ira’s horn, having had to hold them in place a few times to avoid bruises on his face.

Panting softly, Ira lifted their head to look Emet-Selch in the eye. “You...called me by name,” they said between ragged breaths. He flustered, trying to shrug it off, “And you called me by mine.” but with souls still mingled, motes of thought and feeling dancing in the aetheric connection, Ira just smiled, resting their head on his chest as they shivered and huffed through the aftershocks.

Lazily rubbing the end of one of the curved horns, he could not help but smile. “Did you at least  _ enjoy yourself?” _ he trilled. A soft swat at his arm followed by a blissful sigh told him more than words could, his fingers lazily running through Ira’s hair.

“Glad to be of service, hero.”


End file.
